Sleepless
by kolachess
Summary: A certain detective has been very good at pushing himself past his limits. It's Nice's job to make him realize when he does. Alternatively known as "In Which Nice Finally Manages to Get Art to Sleep, Damn It." Because really, he looks like he could use some in the show. Slight NicexArt.


**Author's Note:** In light of recent events (which shall not be mentioned here due to spoilers), I believe there needs to be some extra NicexArt loving. Or just Art loving. By Nice. But all in all, every time I've seen Art in the anime, I think, "Good God, let the poor man get some sleep." So here it is. :) Oh and, there needs to be more NicexArt.

This is un-betaed. I whipped it up after watching Episode 7 today (screams internally).

******Disclaimer:** This is a work of fiction written for fun, not for profit. No copyright infringement or slandering of characters, actors or any related persons is intended.

* * *

~*~ Sleepless ~*~

"_Officer Takashima Masahiro first arrived at the scene 00:17 after a call was made ten minutes prior at 00:07. He confirmed his arrival with headquarters and received another call at 00:23, which he did not answer. At 00:30, his partner on duty, Aoba Genichiro, who had left at 00:19 to scout the area, returned to find him dead at the scene. In a span of 11 minutes, the murderer managed to come out of hiding, kill Takashima and disappear…"_ he thought tiredly, the procession of events running together in his mind as he read through the case report. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, inclining his head and letting his eyes flutter shut, blocking out the glare of the computer screen in the dark room. His hand found its way to the bridge of his nose, and he began massaging the area in a futile attempt to stave off an oncoming headache.

For a few minutes, he sat in the dark and empty room and listened to the idle ticking of the clock and faint buzzing of the refrigerator in the corner of the office. Glancing briefly at the digital numbers displaying '01:06 AM' on the coffee machine to his right, Art gave another tired sigh and leaned forward onto his desk and put his head down on his arms.

There was a pulsing ache growing more prevalent in his temples, and his stomach was beginning to complain direly at the lack of food. Had he had dinner? …probably not. Maybe there was some snack in the cabinet near the back…

…and he woke up to someone's hand on his shoulder.

He shot up in his seat, instantly alert and jerked his head to see the intruder—

—only to groan immediately and shut his eyes at the flood of light entering his retinas. He pressed his hand to his face to provide some cover and defense from the harsh brightness, also attempting desperately to abate the spike of pain in his head his jarring movements caused.

"Oops. Shit, sorry Art—" someone said in the background. There was a scrambling of feet and a quick 'click' sound the same time the room fell into darkness. "Hold on," the same person mumbled while fumbling with something. "Aha!" A moment later, a faint, pale-yellow light provided the room with a comfortable degree of visibility.

"Nice…" the detective muttered, now cognizant of the guest in his office. He gradually opened his eyes and began to make out the outline of Nice's figure in the dimly illuminated room.

"Better?" Nice beamed and made his way over to Art, who nodded at the question. "Sorry about that."

"It's alright," Art said, stifling a yawn. Then he frowned. "Why are you here…?" he questioned the other man with a raise of a brow, "…at—" He glanced quickly at the time on the coffee maker. "—two in the morning?"

Nice rolled his eyes and leaned back casually against the edge of the Art's desk. He folded his arms in front of his chest and gave his friend a pointed look. "Why are _you_ here at two in the morning? Didn't I say not to push yourself, Art?"

The detective only gave another sigh in response. "It can't be helped. There's at least a dozen different cases that require my immediate attention, nine of which seem to be tied or related in some way. There's a killer out there, Nice, and if I don't find the connection—"

"—then maybe you'll finally give someone else the chance to, right?" the red-haired man cut in smoothly with grin. "Give some poor junior a chance to have a shot at cracking this case, Art—"

"—this isn't a game, damn it, Nice!" he growled, palming his forehead. For a moment, silence enveloped the room, save for the innocent ticking of the clock. "…sorry," he let out a moment later.

Nice didn't look the least bit fazed by his outburst, though he did frown a bit. "You're too stressed. It's not good for you," he stated.

"I know," Art replied. He _did_ know. At least, on some conscious level he did. He knew that in his current state, he was less productive than if he were to just have gone to sleep and woken up later to continue. But he couldn't quite get himself to admit to sleep even though his eyes were drifting close again.

He did not notice Nice pushing himself away from the desk and moving to stand behind Art's chair. He didn't notice Nice had moved at all until he felt arms wrapped around his chest from behind and the latter's breath tickling the crown of his head. He felt himself relaxing into the embrace and let the other hold him. It certainly felt nice to have some support…

Nice smiled at the reaction and pressed a firm but soft kiss into pale-purple locks. He breathed in the scent of violet—honestly, Art could be so predictable sometimes—and exhaled heavily, knowing it was somewhat soothing to the other. "Wanna know how I got into the office?"

"…hmm?" Art acknowledged the question lightly. When it _actually_ registered though, he sat up a bit and frowned. "How _did _you get in the office?" If Nice had somehow destroyed another lock and there needs to be another replacement…

"Hey I didn't do anything bad this time! You don't _always_ have to jump to the worst conclusions about me…" the Minimum-holder pouted, noticing the sudden shift in tone.

"Statistics say otherwise," Art pointed out bluntly.

"Pshh…stats schmats." Nice released Art and moved over to lean against the desk again. He smiled and said to the other, "Your beloved subordinates left me their key and warned me that _someone_ might attempt to turn their desk into a bed again tonight."

"I don't—"

Nice held up a hand to cut him off. "They worry about you too, Art. Just like I do," he said quietly and sincerely, looking directly into Art's eyes. Art stared, slightly taken aback at the directness of the statement. He could make out the thin lines of concern drawn across Nice's face.

"_He looks a bit tired too…"_ Art thought quietly.

At that, an expression of guilt fell over the paler man's features. "You don't…I never…" he started, at a loss for words.

"Well!" Nice pushed himself away from the table, shutting Art's laptop as he did so. "No matter. For their sake and mine, why don't you call it a night and continue later?" he suggested lightly but firmly, packing Art's laptop away into his briefcase for him.

"But—"

"No buts about it, Art. You're going to sleep." He shot the other another smile and slung the computer bag over his shoulder. With his other free hand, he grabbed hold of Art's arm and pulled him up, dragging him towards the door.

Art wanted to argue further, but a hard look from Nice silenced any protests from his mind. Or perhaps that was the buzzing numbness of three or four all-nighters muddling his brain? Either ways, he smiled and shook his head, caved in and followed Nice's lead.

He completely missed the fact that Nice discreetly slipped off the computer bag onto the nearby counter right before they closed the door.

* * *

The last thing Art recalled from that night was making it to Birthday's car, which Nice borrowed, and voicing his concerns over Nice's driving abilities to Nice.

* * *

The first thing he recalled after that was waking up to a waning sun at 6 in the evening, in a bed that was not his own.

* * *

When he realized it was 6 in the evening and not 6 in the morning, he immediately panicked, worrying about his absence at work, about the reactions of his men.

Fortunately, Nice managed to enter the room at this time and calmed the young detective, telling him that he already called headquarters in the morning telling them that Art would be taking a day off, and that yes, all his subordinates knew _why_ their superior needed the day off, and oops, he forgot to bring the laptop home somehow and so, well, Art would have to make do without it for the rest of the evening.

With that, Art calmed down and muttered a reluctant 'thanks' before settling back under the covers and passing out again.

* * *

When he awoke for the second time in the middle of later that night, he woke to steady breaths tickling the nape of his neck. He shifted slightly and felt strong arms tighten their hold around his waist.

Knowing whose embrace he was currently sheltered in, he let out a light smile and fell asleep once more.

* * *

When he finally awoke from what felt like hibernation on a fine Saturday morning, it was to a pair of cerulean eyes watching him.

"Good morning," Nice greeted, lazy smile spread across his face and head propped up by one arm.

Art smiled back. "Good morning, Nice."

_~End_

* * *

And that's that. Hope you enjoy! I might write more. There needs to be more NicexArt loving. I'd love to read some NicexArt loving by others! :3


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